Mrs. Chen's porch light is on. She always forgets to turn it off. Mr. Kowalski's silver sedan is parked across the street. He's lived in that house since before I was born. Kids are riding bikes in circles at the end of the block, their laughter carrying on the afternoon air.
Everything is exactly the same as it always is.
I did the right thing. Standing up to Luan. Telling him I wouldn't be treated that way. That I deserve basic respect.
But I feel bad anyway. Guilty. Like I abandoned someone who needed me when they were at their lowest.
I battle with myself for that. For wanting to go back and make sure he's okay. For worrying that he's alone and angry and hurting himself trying to navigate that apartment on his own.
I unlock the front door. The key sticks the way it always does. I have to jiggle it twice before the lock turns. Step inside. Close the door behind me.
The house is quiet. Empty. The floors creak under my weight. Familiar sounds. Comforting sounds that I've heard my entire life.
It smells like dust and cardboard. Like packing tape and old fabric. Like something slowly being dismantled piece by piece.
I'm home. In the house where I grew up. The place that always felt comfortable. Safe. Mine in a way nothing else ever has been.
And I have to leave it.
The thought sits heavy in my chest. But it's for the better, I tell myself. Henry needs this house more than I do. He's starting a family. His girlfriend is pregnant. They need space. Stability. A place to build a life together.
I'm just me. Alone. I can figure things out. I only have myself to worry about. He has a girlfriend and a baby on the way to think about.
That makes him the priority.
I might as well pack while I'm here. Put more memories in boxes. More pieces of my life wrapped in bubble wrap and labeled for storage until I figure out where I'm going to live.
The money from the job at Luan's would have made a real difference. Enough for first and last month's rent on a decent studio. Enough to stop living paycheck to paycheck. Enough to breathe.
But not at any cost. I won't be treated like a doormat. Not for all the money in the world.
Although. Maybe when things cool down, we can talk. Set boundaries. Have an actual conversation about what works and what doesn't. Figure out a way to make it work.
Maybe I'm lying to myself. Trying to convince myself I can have both dignity and income. That I don't have to choose.
At least I kept my job at the grocery store. It's been exhausting juggling both. Barely sleeping. But the job at Luan's was only supposed to last a few weeks. I could have managed.
I can manage.
I force myself not to think in the past tense yet.
I move to the dining room table. Boxes are stacked against the wall. Half-packed. Bubble wrap piled on one of the chairs. I pick up a picture frame. My aunt and me at my high school graduation. Her smile is wide and proud.
I wrap it carefully. Set it in a box.
Then I hear it. A noise at the front door.
My heart jumps. Adrenaline spikes.
Someone's breaking in.
The door opens.
My brother steps inside.
I freeze, staring at him. "Henry?"
He sees me. His face changes. Surprise first. Then something darker.
